Tornado Allie

Ever since he’d finally opened his eyes, Asgore saw wonderment. In the absence of light, the facade of the humble shop dissolved to reveal a sprawling, dreamy gardenscape. Dark, glassy streams burbled quietly across the countryside, the occasional lilypad drifting along their smooth surfaces. Hedges lined vibrant pathways, accented by intricately trimmed topiaries. He’d spied a few sentient pairs of shears snipping an overgrown bush into shape. 

Asgore wasn’t alone in his exploration for long. Turning a corner, the goat monster practically knocked an expectant stranger to the ground. The mishap left the stranger clearly unphased, because the next thing Asgore saw was an outstretched hand and an enthusiastic smile. 

Flowery had been the first of many personalities Asgore would encounter in this unfamiliar world, all who sported the beautiful colors of his most prized gardening project. Each and every one of them required the florist’s attention- to play games, to watch performances, to taste meals prepared just for him. It was all so wonderful, but all so much. Asgore received their gifts and handled their collective excitement well at first; he could plainly see their good intentions. Time dragged on, however, and he could only divide his attention amongst them for so long before he found himself merely tolerating their advances. He could hardly breathe between the cowboy shows, research sessions, boxing matches, and whatever else was on the docket. The flowers vied for his affection like a pack of rowdy children desperately clawing for his approval. 

Asgore found solace in the tranquility of an upper room of this world’s castle. He sat on the edge of a steaming sauna, submerging his calves in the balmy pool. His muscles unclenched as he closed his eyes and breathed in the wafting vapors. This was real. All of it. Dark worlds did exist. He just needed to figure out what it meant for his reality. 

“A little dip never hurt, my king.”

Asgore jumped, his sudden motion splashing the water in a frenzy. The so-called king exhaled and reluctantly looked to the spirited man next to him. Flowery's posture mirrored his, even saturating his pants and loafers in the hot bath without batting an eye. The flower man squinted imperceptibly.

“What’s soiling your mood?”

“Don’t worry. I am alright,” Asgore shook his head and resumed staring at his rippling reflection with a distant, rueful countenance. The pale yellow visage of his companion remained right beside him. Flowery exhaled, his shoulders deflating in an exaggerated manner. 

“C’mon, Gorey! You don’t have to handle everything alone anymore, remember? That’s what this world is for,” Flowery tried again. His curious gaze pleaded for the goat monster to share the burden. Asgore’s brow hardened in return.

“This world is dangerous. It is an improbability and should not exist.” Those words struck Flowery like a spade to the chest. He swallowed hard and stared at his beloved florist feeling like he’d been ripped from a bed of dirt by the stem. 

“Don’t be like that, old buddy,” Flowery stuttered. His smile grew strained with each passing second. “This world’s the reason we can give you the thanks you deserve. Without it, how else would we return the favor and take care of you?”

“Look- I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but none of this is necessary,” Asgore fully shifted to address him. “My happiness isn’t yours to maintain. Blooming for me is enough.” His firm tone clashed with his message. 

For the first time since Asgore had arrived in this dark world, Flowery’s radiant persona vanished. A morose shadow seemed to overtake his glimmering features. The flower man stood and hoisted himself out of the sauna, his shoes squelching on the floor. 

“We’ve wanted this for you forever,” Flowery strode back towards the open doorway and paused in its frame. “It just doesn’t seem fair that you couldn’t let me dream a little longer.” 

After a solemn discussion, the rest of the flowers learned to give their esteemed guest ample space until further notice. Aqua tagged along with Seth to distract them from their studies with endless chatter. Blue and Yellow had no problem keeping each other close company, on and off the stage. Orange hitched rides on Green’s shoulders demanding to be their official taste-tester as they worked the diner kitchen. Sometimes a few of them would happen across Asgore piecing together loose papers in the castle halls; most times, the lightner secluded himself somewhere private to focus on his mysterious goal. 

Flowery sat sulking at a diner table as his friends learned to occupy themselves properly. Out of everyone, surely he could’ve found something to do to pass the time; he’d been the most energetic of the bunch just before. The sting of new sensations like shame and embarrassment wilted him, though. He felt rooted in place. 

A plate with a slice of ornately iced cake clattered down before him. Pink swirls and ribbons dotted the outside; the inside sported layers of yellow cake separated with a light, airy cream. Green took a seat across the table with a smile and a wave. 

“Perfect timing as usual,” Flowery laughed dryly and pulled the plate closer. He would never think to waste such generosity. Green gave a humble nod and a shrug simultaneously. The sweetness of the dessert did nothing to abate the bitterness churning in Flowery's core. He gripped his fork until his knuckles turned white. 

“If you don’t hear it from Asgore, I want you to know you’re doing super,” the corner of his mouth twitched. He chased the words with a bite of cake. “You all are. You deserve to know that. No matter what’s going on, you always give it your best.”

As if reading his mind, Green interjected by laying a gentle hand over his and smiling in a manner that communicated everything he needed to hear without speech. Then something banged the underside of the table, rattling the silverware. Leaning over allowed Flowery to see Orange landing punches on the table leg with her boxing gloves. Her nose twitched and her mousey ears perked up.

“The king’s being a meanie. Don’t let him bully you,” she squeaked militantly. “Just tell me when and I’ll teach him a lesson.” Flowery reached down and tousled her fur to her chagrin, his smile faintly returning. 

"Take my hands," Noelle breathed, beckoning for Kris to join her. Her hair glowed like billowing fire from the sunlight warming the back of her festive sweater. Kris could see the intensity in her eyes despite the shadows enveloping her face. Her sweet smile seemed warped into something unrecognizable- too erratic and desperate. Something within Kris obeyed. The fabric of their pants did little to lessen the shock of the cold water against their shins as their legs stepped forward into the lake. Kris's mind flooded with shouts that this was wrong, this was danger, but their heart must have felt differently. Shakily, their arms lifted and grasped Noelle's outstretched hands. 

Noelle said something about doing the impossible but Kris could barely process it over the rushing in their ears. A dull buzz tingled their fingertips. Their feet trudged on and she led them further out until the brisk water seeped in under their shirt. The green and red squares on Noelle's sweater darkened as they dipped below the lake's glistening surface. Kris opened their mouth slightly but a lump in their throat stopped the words from coming. 

“There you are, Noelle.”

Kris had never felt so relieved to hear that nasal voice in their life. Such a simple phrase felt like a lifeline. 

“Your mom's been wondering when you'll help her clean up the decorations so she sent me, the festival king, to fetch you.” 

Berdly stood on shore with a puffed chest wearing a yellow paper crown atop his feathered head. His beak upturned in a cheesy, likely undeserved grin. It faltered when he noticed his classmates’ expressions; he could have sworn that just before Noelle smiled at him, she'd been making a scary face. It was as if some stranger stood there in her clothes. Meanwhile Kris turned to Berdly with the widest eyes he'd ever seen. 

Kris tore from Noelle's grip to paw at their chest momentarily like a crazed animal. Caught off guard, Noelle blinked as if dazed and didn't move to grab them again. 

“I'll help,” Kris practically yelled, twisting around in the water and splashing back towards their bewildered savior. Berdly recoiled but offered a hand to pull them up. Their palms felt clammy and damp. They strode forward without giving Berdly a chance to address the girl still standing in the lake.

“So… what was that all about?” Berdly asked the human still clinging tightly to his hand. Kris shook their head vigorously with a downcast gaze and a clamped mouth. The town was deserted compared to the heat of the festival activities, so the only sound came from their footsteps and voices as they walked in the waning light. 

“Heh. You should've seen the look on Susan's face when I got crowned earlier,” Berdly chuckled. “She looked offended that anyone would vote for me. Well joke's on her, anyone can become festival king. Even you,” Berdly nudged Kris with his elbow. “If I'm not competing, of course.” That elicited something between a dry laugh and a cough from Kris. 

More silence ensued between them as they walked. The pair strode a few blocks and rounded some turns before Berdly halted, forcing Kris to finally stop looking at the tops of their shoes. They weren’t standing at the front gate of the mayor’s house as expected; the bluebird had brought Kris to their own front door. Yellow light glowed softly from the living room window. They spotted their mother’s silhouette lounging in her favorite chair, flipping through a book. Kris relinquished their hand and fixed Berdly with a confused stare. 

“What? You didn’t really think I was going to make you work after all that, did you?” Berdly scoffed. “I may not understand what’s going on with you two, but I’m not going to pretend everything’s alright.”

Kris tried to shrug the statement off, but Berdly put a hand on their shoulder.

“Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you on Monday.”

Expecting the cold metal of the demon blade, Yuga was mildly surprised to feel smooth glass; the first supplies Ghirahim handed him were two health potions to keep stowed on his person. Whether or not there would be time to use them, they would be there. The demon and the sorcerer hardly exchanged words but shared a heavy resignation between them as they readied for the mission ahead. Yuga cast a long glance towards his staff. It would be too cumbersome to store and wield alongside his newer weapon, so it sat leaned against the wall as he fastened the demon blade to his back with leather straps. 

“Where to?” Ghirahim asked when it seemed Yuga had finished preparing himself. The sorcerer pulled out a wrinkled map and laid it flat on his desk, eyes flicking over various Lorulean landmarks. Until now, every encounter with the hero happened to occur when Yuga added a new sage to his artistic collection. Intercepting that incessant pest on purpose would be a whole different challenge. 

“We will go where the worm expects us next,” said Yuga. He tapped on the paper where it indicated a fortress in the east. “The dark palace.”

Teleporting to their desired location was a snap, but Ghirahim stopped Yuga before they could enter the towering palace that loomed before them. 

“For now I will reside in the blade. From there, my spirit can temper its mettle,” Ghirahim told his master. “It will be at full strength that way.”

“I- But I thought we were going to fight him together,” Yuga frowned. Uncertainty betrayed his voice. The sorcerer’s shoulders sank at the prospect of what was to come. 

“We will. I’ll still be here. And if you need me, I shall appear,” the demon grasped Yuga’s hands in his own. “You told me to have faith, remember? It’s your turn now.” 

Yuga let out a shuddering breath and nodded with obvious reluctance. His eyes wandered to the darkness of the palace’s maw. They snapped forward again when Ghirahim kissed his hands and flashed him a smile before the demon’s form dissipated in a stream of diamonds leading to the sword on Yuga’s back. Knowing that Ghirahim persisted within the weapon barely thwarted the newfound loneliness washing over the sorcerer as he turned to head inside. 

Over the sounds of crackling torches and patrolling monsters, Yuga thought he could hear distant action further into the dungeon. The noise spurred him onward through various rooms with an assortment of dangers; seemingly bottomless pits flanked precarious bridges in some of them and others were practically bereft of any light, all boasting creatures that didn’t care who they attacked. 

Yuga stabbed through the palm of a swift wallmaster with his sword and flung the disembodied hand into the closest pit. He swatted his way through a small flock of angry keese. Closer still he could just make out the squeals of monsters dying ahead. One final stalfos guarded the door to the next room which Yuga dispatched hastily, stepping on its bones to cross the next threshold.

Standing there in the middle of a plain stone chamber lined with blazing torches was the person Yuga hoped to find. From his place in the sword, Ghirahim got a good look at the hero he'd been hearing so much about. Outrageous… this Link paled in comparison to the hero from Skyloft. He was no trained knight- he appeared to be a scrappy farm boy in a plain tunic rather than the uniform with chainmail Ghirahim had grown so familiar with. This Link was even a smidge shorter than he’d envisioned, with a youthful, amateurish face. His only respectable quality may have been the courage bestowed upon him by the goddesses, and that was pushing it. Although the door behind Link audibly unlocked with an echoing click, the invitation to delve further into the dungeon was no match for the spar that was about to ensue.

Link scowled and sized up his opponent. Confusion flashed across his features when he caught sight of the sword in place of Yuga’s staff, but he corrected his stance. The pair started pacing the floor locked at a distance from one another. Link broke the cycle by rushing forward in an overhead strike which Yuga countered, fending off the blow with the jagged edge of his blade. The sorcerer immediately struck back in an attempt to catch the hero off-guard but was successfully blocked by the shield on Link’s forearm. Right… unlike his spells, Yuga’s sword would not be capable of penetrating a metal shield. Perhaps he should have thought to bring a shield himself; their weapons may have been equally powerful, but a paltry defense was a severe disadvantage. Yuga would just have to overcome his glaring oversight. 

Yuga closed the gap this time, jabbing at Link with the point of his sword. The Hylian stumbled back and rolled to the side to spring onto his feet, hands too occupied to feel the new cut by his collarbone. Yuga continued swiping after him to keep him from rebounding but Link batted away the threat with the curve of his shield. A quick thrust let the master sword nip at Yuga’s shoulder. The flash of gnawing pain had Yuga fumbling for one of his potions with his free hand. It shattered against the floor into numerous glittering shards and a puddle of useless liquid. 

Link’s gaze travelled from the mess to the second glass bottle attached at his adversary’s hip by a thin leather strap. He advanced. Yuga crunched a few pieces of glass under his heels as he tried to put space between them, warily watching his opponent. The sorcerer blocked his bad shoulder with the flat of his sword when Link swung at him, only to realize his error too late; Link hadn’t gone for his wound at all. More shattered glass rained down around his feet and the side of his leg grew damp from the last health potion. Now the stakes grew tenfold. How underhanded for a supposed hero! Surely Link had some potions stashed safely in a pouch somewhere too. 

Yuga broke out into a slight sweat as the duel went on but Link seemed entirely unafflicted by fatigue. The stoic Hylian maintained a perfectly trained composure to the point of unnerving his enemy. He sheathed the master sword in favor of unhooking a different tool from his arsenal; he tossed a boomerang at Yuga’s head, forcing the sorcerer to duck right when Link swung a bulky hammer. The sheer force swept Yuga from his footing, cradling his jaw from the impact. This was getting preposterous- had he raided an armory before he came here? Another hearty swing, this time a rib-rattling blow to the sternum that knocked the wind out of him. Beyond Yuga's peripheral vision, a small, sharp projectile cut a line across Link's cheek. The hero ceased his onslaught to locate its source; a new stranger stood defensively by his downed enemy and had summoned a few more throwing blades aimed at Link's head. 

“That's quite enough of that,” proclaimed Ghirahim in a restrained tone. The demon brandished a dark sword and strode on, walking Link backwards to draw the fight off of Yuga. Link regarded his second opponent with a cautious glare and matched the demon’s pace. Ghirahim launched an offensive maneuver to keep him thoroughly occupied, forcing the hero to deflect a flurry of slashes too fast and efficient to be human. For a mere moment, Ghirahim thought he spied a shadow of concern overtake Link’s face. It wasn’t like the hero was trapped here; the entrance and exit both stood ajar since defeating the standard monsters prior to this skirmish. If this Link was like any other, he was a pragmatist as well as a swordsman. 

The Hylian considered Ghirahim and Yuga each. There was something significant between them that laid below the surface, as evidenced by Ghirahim’s presence and involvement on the other’s behalf. They were working together at the very least. That complicated things. Link’s mind churned as he moved, calculating options to even the odds. Two opponents would be too difficult to manage at once, and he wanted to make it to the end of his dungeon. He dropped and rolled across the floor to bypass Ghirahim entirely, rushing to Yuga as the sorcerer regained his strength and poised to attack. 

One hard strike across the chest with the blade of evil’s bane and it was all over. Link’s expectations came to fruition when Ghirahim dropped his pursuit of the hero in favor of instantly crossing the room to appear by Yuga’s side instead. The demon’s face contorted with a mixture of terror and fury, his focus frantically split between his collapsed master and Link as he advanced once more. 

“Leave us,” Ghirahim huffed through his teeth. He practically spat. “Can’t you see when you’ve won, boy? Go and claim your damned victory.” 

He gestured to the open exit with the jerk of his head. Link halted and stared at the demon curiously, his gaze lingering a tad too long for his enemy’s liking. He certainly could venture forth and leave his enemies to pick up the pieces, but leaving them just meant allowing a continued threat towards his kingdom to persist. The Hylian continued to approach with a grim expression. Duty spurred him on. 

Sure Ghirahim could defend against Link indefinitely, but Yuga didn’t have that kind of time. In the flickering orange light of the chamber torches, the sorcerer spotted something he hadn’t noticed before- although slim, a distinct crack etched between the stones of the nearest wall. The tips of his fingers tingled and sparked with what little magic he could summon without his staff.

Every time Ghirahim looked his master’s way, his mind summoned images of that jagged, bloody line which he struggled to dispel. The sight of mortal blood shouldn’t have disturbed a weapon such as himself, but that mortality was something Ghirahim would have to adopt as if it were his own if he wanted Yuga to survive under his servitude. That aspect was a concept the demon ruminated over again and again; he had to remember he was mentoring someone who could be felled by even the simplest of daggers in the end. Unlike Demise, Yuga’s fragile skin wasn’t protected beneath a coat of shimmering obsidian scales. Pity was the wrong word to describe how the demon felt about his master’s glaring vulnerability- his gut steeled with a primal instinct to protect the sorcerer above all else.

“Again,” Ghirahim instructed Yuga to rerun a curated series of practiced strikes for the umpteenth repetition. His master obeyed dutifully, although fatigue plagued his body and dulled his precision. The sorcerer swayed on his feet and paused to wipe his face with a sleeve. That act alone sent his arm muscles into spasms.

“A break is in order, don't you think?” Yuga gave his companion a weary look. “We've been at this for quite a while…”

“There may not be potions on the battlefield,” answered Ghirahim rigidly. “You must perfect these techniques if you want to stand a chance against a seasoned swordsman.”

Ghirahim had been like this since Yuga's chance encounter with Link. Yuga took a long sideways glance at the demon, his posture loosening slightly. Ghirahim's tone had radiated an odd agitation instead of his typically suave, confident persona. The demon’s militant countenance couldn't disguise his pervading anxiety. 

Yuga laid his training sword in the grass and strolled over to sit, his back resting against the courtyard fountain basin. He patted the spot beside him. Ghirahim wordlessly accepted the offer and joined him with a sigh. 

“I shall become the swordsman you envision in due time,” Yuga smiled. “With such a tutor, how could I not?” Although appreciated, his words did little to assuage the sword spirit's concerns. Ghirahim's previous master had seemed all-powerful, but even he could not stand against the hero's courage and survive.

“I cannot lose another master,” said Ghirahim.

“You won't. I am Lorule's strongest mage and you are the great demon sword,” Yuga replied with a hand on his companion's arm. “We’ll teach that pathetic worm his place and the triforce will be ours. You must have faith.” 

Gradually, Ghirahim’s expression eased into a muted smile. He clasped Yuga’s hand for a moment and gave his knuckles a small squeeze. Whether Yuga’s odds of triumph were good or not, moments like this reinforced that he was worthy of Ghirahim’s commitment regardless. Since day one, Yuga’s gaze wasn’t that of a foreboding master but rather the soft, knowing look of an equal. A partner. It was something Ghirahim never knew he was missing. 

The pair turned in for the day, heading back into the castle corridors so Yuga could recover from his meticulous practice. Proper rest would also help the sorcerer prepare for future fights. He certainly deserved it. Minutes before reaching Yuga’s room, however, a burst of magic enveloped Ghirahim and paralyzed him midstep. The demon hissed, the coursing light binding him in place. Yuga turned on his heels to face the culprit. 

“What is your business here, stranger?” Asked a young woman with long, raven hair. She wielded a staff similar to that of Yuga’s and her dress bore a striking resemblance to that of the Zelda painting. Ghirahim recognized her by Yuga’s prior descriptions, down to her pallid demeanor- Princess Hilda. So much for keeping Ghirahim a secret.

“We don’t tolerate intruders. Speak or you will be dealt with accordingly.”

“Easy now, Your Grace,” Yuga piped up instantly and stepped between the two. “This fellow is my esteemed guest, I assure you.” His voice wavered between a proclamation and a plea.

Hilda eyed her advisor and his supposed friend before lowering her weapon, releasing Ghirahim from her spell. The demon made sure to keep his expression tame and limited under her scrutiny; he dipped into a bow, much to Yuga’s relief.

“An honor to make your acquaintance,” said Ghirahim. More cold silence from the princess. They could practically sense calculations happening behind her solemn ruby eyes. The stranger’s appearance was so foreign from her people, she wasn’t even sure he was human. Yuga treated his presence as perfectly natural though. Her brow furrowed.

“Please avoid hosting other guests without my knowledge. We must keep the castle secure,” Hilda frowned at Yuga before finally taking her leave. The sorcerer and demon barely waited for her to disappear around a corner before shutting themselves in Yuga’s chambers. The disparity between Hilda’s personality and her goals surprised Ghirahim; her aim was pure but she was such a cold fish. No wonder Yuga wanted to keep Hilda from meeting Ghirahim for so long. Ghirahim mentally noted the strength and magical prowess the princess displayed just from that one interaction; her wariness towards even her trusted advisor could become a threat if conditions demanded it. She was far too paranoid for the demon’s liking. In the stillness of the room, Yuga noticed the hardening look on his companion’s face and chuckled dryly. 

“She runs a tight ship,” the sorcerer shook his head. “But if all goes to plan, that shouldn’t be a problem for too much longer.” Yuga was lucky that Ghirahim could be so patient and that he liked him so much. 

The first substantial rays of morning light heralded an unpleasant surprise for the castle residents. Armored guards rushed to the main doors when a cacophony of echoing bangs rattled the nearby sconces, awakening everyone at once. Guttural snarls and hisses lashed out from behind the thick wood as the few guards to arrive pressed themselves against the doors in an attempt to keep them from opening. 

Ghirahim summoned a handful of throwing daggers and watched the bedroom door as Yuga stumbled from bed to throw on his clothes and fetch his staff. Despite her sheer power, a pair of personal knights sequestered Hilda in a safe room deeper into the heart of the castle due to her status. Whoever prepared in time would be all the castle had for defense. 

The instant Yuga was ready, Ghirahim took his hand and they teleported a short distance from the entrance hall to investigate the disturbance together. The grand doors burst inward on the guards from the shoving throng of monsters on the other side. A horde rushed the hall. Torchlight gleamed off the chest plates and broad rusted shields of moblins who knocked the Lorulean guards from their feet with ease. A line of stalfos marched onward behind them, their crooked swords clashing loudly against their enemies’ weapons. Ghirahim felled some with well-timed throwing blades to the skeletal soldiers’ rickety joints. The undead collapsed into piles of immobile limbs that threatened to trip any unobservant fighter. Yuga fired technicolor flames at the advancing onslaught, a few blazes transfixing a couple monsters to the walls as hideous splashes of paint. Those would have to be scrubbed from the stone bricks eventually. 

One of the moblins leapt at Yuga who narrowly evaded its unceremonious belly flop. The reverberations shook the area, upending a torch from its place and setting a nearby tapestry ablaze. Smoke billowed to the ceiling in black plumes that stung the eyes and lungs of the soldiers, human and monster alike. Ghirahim continued to mow down oncoming creatures unaffected, which allowed the guards to start fighting back themselves. The onslaught soon thinned out until the band of monsters lay slain where they once stood, inanimate stalfos bones strewn about the floor. 

“The kingdom grows more restless by the day,” Hilda’s voice rang out clearly in the silence, drawing the attention of her defenders. She centered her gaze on her advisor. “Forget the sages, just focus on getting the triforce of courage from its current wielder. That should be enough. We’re running out of time.” 

While the guards rushed to smother the remaining flames and fasten the busted castle doors back into place for the time being, Yuga bowed low to the princess.

“Yes, Your Grace.” He couldn’t simply refuse the order, even if he wasn’t certain he was prepared to perform such a task. Ghirahim stiffened beside him, bristling from the manner in which the princess chose to address the sorcerer. Of course she would dole out further orders immediately after Yuga fended off an invasion. It didn’t help that Hilda hadn’t paid Ghirahim’s presence or contribution any mind either. How convenient.

“You’re very welcome,” Ghirahim muttered under his breath after her.

That day’s sword training was just as solemn as the previous one, perhaps even more if that was possible. Despite the lack of proper preparation and experience, Yuga had brought the great demon sword with him to practice handling. Being woken up earlier than anticipated by that morning ambush did him no favors. He was becoming well-versed in standard swordplay though, so Ghirahim didn’t push him as hard as he’d done the previous day. 

A light tingling sensation danced along Ghirahim’s skin as soon as his master held the weapon, the core of Ghirahim’s being, in his hands. Added to his mounting concern over Yuga’s next battle, the restless energy caused Ghirahim to shiver. His master was finally using him and he couldn’t muster any excitement about it.